


pretty boys write prophecies on the hands of their girls

by lostinthefire



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Writing on Skin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-21
Updated: 2012-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 13:38:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinthefire/pseuds/lostinthefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal has a small love affair of a pen and Elizabeth's skin.  Peter watches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pretty boys write prophecies on the hands of their girls

She is on the bed, her body bare and her mouth is cured upwards. She can't stop herself from smiling, can't keep the giggle in her throat, though she knows she'll have to if she wants this to work.

Neal and Peter kneel on the side of the bed and she knows her husband is just drinking her in, studying her, reveling in her curves, her skin. It makes her smile more. She knows he adores her and she adores him right back. 

Neal, on the other hand, is rolling his sleeves up and picking up a fountain pen.

He starts on hr palms, writing lines of verse that he mutters to her as he does so. She doesn't recognize it but she doesn't care. It's not the point of this, not the reason they're doing this.

Though really, they don't have much of a reason for doing this other than Elizabeth was admiring Neal's handwriting and Peter enjoys seeing his wife happy. 

Neal continues to write, traveling up her arm and across her chest. She's not sure what he's writing becuase, after a time, her eyes have closed and she's losing herself in the feeling of the pen against her skin. It's hypnotic and soothing and it's easy to let herself fall into it's flowing rhythm. 

Neal stops occasionally, whispering to Peter and she knows he's trying to decide what to write were. She wants to say that it doesn't matter, that there can be anything and it's fine with her, that she trusts him to put whatever he thinks is right on her, but she keeps her mouth shut, leaves him to his work.

It's strange, being one of Neal's art pieces but it's wonderful too. Lovely and freeing in a way. You know you're going to be something more, something stunning and beautiful. Not that she didn't think of herself as beautiful before, not by any standard but she knows that, with the care Neal is putting in, she will be absolutely striking.

She can already imagine Peter, his hands twitching to reach out, to touch her, to smear the ink and it makes her smile more.

Being art will be nice but being alive again will be even nicer.

Neal writes on her until she's sure the pen has been nearly everywhere, she can feel it all over her body, scratching lightly at her skin, teasing it and she finally opens her eyes, studying herself and breathing in.

Her body is covered in words, lovely words. Some of them were lines of verse, some of them were stray words, some of them were not even in English but there are words everywhere.

"You're beautiful," Peter says, a little breathless. 

She laughs, moving forward to kiss him hard against the mouth. His hands move immediately to touch her, to smear Neal's work just as she knew he would. 

Neal leans back on the bed, not seeming to mind in the slightest.

Elizabeth moves, sitting up a little and puling Peter closer, pulling him onto the bed and on top of her. Some of the ink had dried, yes but some of it is staining his shirt. neither of them can bring themselves to care though and if it made any difference to Neal, he didn't vocalize it.

Peter's hands are everywhere on her, touching her, moving against her curves,. His mouth goes to her neck, not minding the ink (it was safe, Neal made sure 9of that) and he whispers in hr ear, sending shivers up her spin and leaving her wriggling and giggling against him.

She nips at his ear for a moment before moving to kiss him hard on the mouth, her hands wrapping around his neck and pinning him there for a few extra moments.

"We should get clean." She whispers to him, laughing as he kisses her neck again, them moves down to her collarbone.

"Mmhm," Peter says, obviously distracted.

She laughs, shaking her head but she's not going to stop him either, couldn't even think about it.

She catches Neal out of the corner of her eye, settling in a corner and puling out a sketchbook. She wants to watch him draw a little, wants to watch him watching them but Peter's mouth is on her breast and she's fairly distracted rather quickly.

And they spend the rest of the afternoon like that, wrapped up in each other and Neal drawing them, sketch after sketch of them loving each other, of Peter nearly worshiping her and wiping the words off her body.

None of them mind though, Not Elizabeth, who looks so pleased with everything, not Neal who smiles at the way he's captured the way she looks when her husband has her so wired she can't form words and certainly not Peter, who looks more content with himself and the things around him than anyone really gets to see.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me elsewhere:  
> [My DW](http://rootsofthestories.dreamwidth.org) (which I use regularly)  
> [My Tumblr](http://analtarofstars.tumblr.com/) (which I am very rarely on)  
> [My Twitter](http://twitter.com/harvestgraces) (which I am on at random)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Pretty Boys Write Prophecies On The Hands Of Their Girls](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9237587) by [fire_juggler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fire_juggler/pseuds/fire_juggler)




End file.
